Baby New Year
by TheREALCarbyLove
Summary: Abby. Carter. A baby. And a party. Sequel to “Merry Christmas, Baby.”


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Title: Baby New Year

Author: Andrea _(CarbyLove@aol.com__)_

Rating: PG for some sexual innuendo and random nudity. But hey, who doesn't love a group shower?

Summary: Abby. Carter. A baby. And a party. Sequel to "Merry Christmas, Baby."

Author's Note: Big ups to LISA and COURTNEY for the doing the whole sneak preview, big-ass edit thing. You know I love it. I 'hate' you, but I love your editing. Seriously, I couldn't do it without you guys. Well, maybe I *could,* but it wouldn't be nearly as much fun. So yeah, sorry this fic is so late to the catch the train, but that's what happens when a fic is 25 pages and 12,000 words. Deal with it. And yes_, I'll be updating the other fics. When time and creativity allow me to get something written. And remember, the more reviews I get, the more likely I am to tickle the keyboard. _

*~*~*~*

Baby New Year

"Are you sure about this, Abby?" John asks me. 

"Well, it's a little late now," I respond with a laugh. "After all, people will be here in a couple of hours. Can't back out now."

"This is quite a turn around. Wasn't it just last week that I could barely get you to go to the Christmas party? So how did we get from that to hosting a New Year's Eve bash?"

"It's not a bash. It's just a get-together with a few of our friends," I explain. Then I turn to him somewhat indignantly, "Besides, I thought you would be happy. Weren't you the one lamenting the sad state of our social life? Can you believe it, Robby?" I ask, looking down at the baby lying in front of me on the bed. He's lying on his back kicking is his legs up in the air and trying to chew on his own feet while I sit on the bed just watching him. I could watch him like this for hours. "Just because I want to stay home with you instead of hanging out with our friends, Daddy accuses me of having no life." I run my hands up his plump little legs and over his little round belly, up to his face where I cover his eyes, playing an impromptu game of peek-a-boo. How can going out on the town ever begin to compete with this? 

"I never said you had no life, Abby. I said _we_ had no _social_ life." 

"Is there a difference?" 

"Of course there's a difference. We have a _life_. There's Robby. And work. And we have each other."

"In that order?" I ask him, teasingly. 

"No. Yes. No."

"Never mind. I know what you mean. Ever since Robby … it's been all about Robby. Or work. And what little time was left was our time. So our friends sort of fell to the wayside. But I think you're right … it's time we find room for them again. That's why I wanted to do this tonight. Besides, it's New Year's Eve. It's supposed to be a celebration … and this year, we've got a lot to celebrate -- lots of new beginnings. So it would seem a shame to not do anything to mark the day."

"You're not getting any complaint from me," he says. 

"You could have fooled me." I reply as I pick up the baby's little hands, waving his arms back and forth while he stares up at me. "You wanna get ready for your bath?" I ask him, giving him a smile as I start to remove the red sweat suit he's been wearing. It's adorable, but not quite dressy enough for hosting a New Year's Eve party. 

"Hey, I'm fine with it. I think it's great, and I'm looking forward to it. I was just making sure that you feel the same way." 

"I do. I want to do this. I think it'll be fun. And what better way to spend more time with our friends without spending less time with Robby than by entertaining here in our home? Besides, we really should do more entertaining. Since we have this huge … house." Mansion. Castle. Palace. "Not to mention the fleet of servants. We really have no excuse."

"We _don't _have a fleet of servants, Abby." 

"We have more servants than most people." 

"A housekeeper."

"And a cook. And a gardener. And …" 

"None of whom are here today. We made all the food for this party ourselves." I give him a look. "Okay, we _bought_ all the food for this party ourselves." That much is true. We spent the majority of the afternoon at the grocery store and then a gourmet market picking out all the appetizers and finger foods for tonight. Nothing fancy, most of it pre-prepared. We were just left with a little washing and chopping. And now everything is waiting in the fridge to either be popped in the oven or laid out on trays.

"I'm just saying having extra help around the house should make it easier for us to entertain. So maybe we should do it more often." 

"I like this new attitude of yours."

"Good. I aim to please," I tell him, as I pull off the baby's diaper and roll it up, tossing it on to the small pile of laundry. My now-naked baby shrieks in happiness, kicking his legs up in the air in absolute glee. "You love to be naked, don't you?" I ask him. I get this same excited reaction every time the diaper comes off. He's just like his dad. Although usually Carter only gets this happy when _I'm_ naked. "He'd be happy to run around … or crawl around with no clothes on all the time." 

"That would be messy," John observes as he sorts through some clothes, trying to decide what to wear tonight. 

"Not to mention a little bit obscene." 

"Huh?" He asks, turning around. 

I just gesture to the baby. "No wonder he likes to be naked so much. The minute the diaper comes off, his hand is you-know-where." 

"Well, Abby … he's a boy."

"Obviously. But … what? He has to make sure that he's _still_ a boy?"

"I guess. I don't know. It's what boys do. It's perfectly natural. A little self-exploration."

"I'm a little afraid that if he _explores_ any more, he's going to hurt himself."

"Don't worry, he can't break anything off."

"I know. But I hope he grows out of it by the time he's potty trained. Otherwise, what's gonna happen once there's no diaper in the way? Is he gonna have his hand in his pants all the time?" 

"Yeah, probably. But we'll just have to teach him not to walk around with his hand in his pants." 

"I had no idea you started so young. Boys," I say, rolling my eyes, "You're all the same. And apparently it starts in infancy." I reach out toward Robby, distracting him from his other activities by taking his hands and helping him to stand up. Holding onto my hands for support, he can stay in a standing position for a while, and he seems to enjoy it. He bends and straightens his knees, then picks up first one leg then the other, getting his exercise for the day.

"Boys? You don't think she'll be the same way?" He asks, nodding toward my belly, and our baby girl within.

"Well, I don't think she'll have her hands in her pants all the time, no." 

"Ha! Just wait. You'll see. We're all sexual beings, Ab. Males don't have a monopoly on that. Or did you forget about who was climbing all over who this morning?" 

"Hormones," I say, by way of explanation. Not that there's anything wrong with me throwing myself at my husband. He just smiles and shakes his head at me. But he's not fooling me; I know he loves it when I'm the one to put the moves on him. "So are you going to take a shower?" 

"See?! Now you're trying to get me in the shower!" 

I smile at Robby, scooping him up in my arms as I get off the bed. "What are we gonna do with your daddy, huh?" I turn to John. "I wanted to know because if you are, I thought maybe you could take Robby in with you … save us some time. People are gonna be getting here before you know it, and we still have to get dressed." I glance at my naked baby in my arms. "We have to get you dressed for the party, too huh? Unless you're gonna be Baby New Year … then you just a need your diaper and a banner. But you might get cold, don't you think?" He coos at me and rests his head on my shoulder, batting his eyelashes at me. Such a flirt already. 

"Yeah, I'll take him in with me," John agrees. "Let me just go start the water, get it warmed up." 

"Not too warm," I call. 

"I know."

"Not too cold." 

"_ I know_."

"He knows," I say to Robby as I carry him around on my shoulder. "Of course he does. He's such a good daddy. Yes, he is. You're a lucky little guy, you know that?" The baby accompanies me as I work my way around the bedroom, laying out my clothes for tonight, picking out my jewelry. "Hurry up, John!" I call after a few minutes have gone by. "If I'd known it was gonna take this long, I wouldn't have gotten you undressed yet," I tell Robby. Not that he cares since he is so fond of wearing nothing but his birthday suit. But even cuddled up against me, he's starting to get cold. 

"Okay, I'm here. Sorry," my naked husband says as he takes my naked baby out of my arms. Carter lifts my arm up and appears to be inspecting me. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Looking for the wet spot."

"What wet spot?"

"How do you do that?" He asks.

"Do … what?" 

"Keep him from peeing on you. If I take his diaper off for ten seconds, he pees all over everything. You've been walking around with him for ten minutes, and he didn't pee on you." 

"He wouldn't dare. Would you, baby?" I say, reaching over and running my hand over his little head. "No, you wouldn't pee on Mommy." I give him a big smile and he returns it with the full body smile, reaching out for me. He starts crying when I don't immediately take him back.

John gives me a dirty look. Whether for 'making' the baby cry or because I didn't get peed on, I'm not sure. He pauses at the bathroom doorway. "Are you joining us?" 

"Joining you?"

"Yeah, it'll save even more time." 

"That's not usually how it works." 

"Yeah, but Ab …" He nods toward the baby. Yeah, I guess this time it might be a time saver. What with the baby there and all. "Besides, Robby's crying for you now." 

"That's not fair."

"What?" He asks, innocently. 

"Playing the baby card." 

"Don't try to act like you weren't gonna do it until I mentioned the baby."

"I wasn't." 

"Then why have you already taken off half your clothes?" I just push past him into the bathroom, shedding the other half of my clothes and stepping into the shower. Soon the door shuts behind me as my boys join me. I feel little hands on my shoulder, and turn around to see Robby reaching toward me. Leaning way out of his father's grasp trying to get to me, in fact. 

"C'mere, peanut," I say, taking him in my arms. I cuddle him close to my chest before turning back toward the spray of water and getting us both wet. As soon as he feels the water, he begins to laugh and kick. My little water baby. He loves his bath. And he especially loves the shower. He's so excited that he's wriggling all over the place, making it hard for me to keep a good grip on him. Which will make washing him next to impossible. 

"This is a little different than how our joint showers used to be, isn't it?" John asks, although the words are barely out of his mouth when I feel his lips brush against my neck. I give him a gentle elbow to the ribs. 

"Just a little reminder … for old time's sake," he says. As if now that we have kids, our days of showering alone together are over. But, in fact, showering is not usually a family adventure … sometimes it is still a mixed doubles event, though. And even more often it's a parent-child experience. However, with Robby being so wiggly at the moment, I'm glad for another set of hands this time. I turn toward Carter who's still standing behind me. 

"Can you hold him?" I put Robby back in his daddy's arms so that I can grab the baby soap and squirt some out on the baby's head. I give him a quick wash while Carter tries to keep him from sliding out of his arms. As soon as Robby is clean, John holds up him under the stream of water, causing another fit of full body laughter and a moment of panic when the baby starts to slip from his dad's grasp. Instantly, my hands are reaching for him, but John's already managed to get a good grip again. 

"Don't do _that!_" I'm not even sure if I'm talking to John or Robby. "God, you scared me." I lean close to Robby, "You scared Mommy to death. Yeah, I thought you were gonna fall and crack your head open. And we'd spend all of New Year's Eve in the ER … trying to revive me." 

"He's okay, Ab. I've got him now." Carter is holding him close to his body, both arms wrapped tight around him. "Go ahead and get washed up and then you can take him." I do as he suggests, getting washed while he holds the baby. But when I open up my eyes after rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, I find that I have an attentive audience.

"Stop staring at me," I say.

"Robby, stop staring," Carter says, looking down at the baby.

"I was talking to you."

"Me? I wasn't staring. I was … appreciating."

"Appreciating?"

"Yeah, your new … uh … figure." 

I look down at myself. Yeah, it's new all right. "You mean my big boobs." 

"No … I mean … all of it. Your round little belly …"

"My big butt …" 

"Your butt's not big."

"Carter. My butt is so big that if we went on vacation, we'd have to get my butt its own seat on the plane."

"That doesn't make any sense. Doesn't your butt always have its own seat? Because, you know, your butt is what you're gonna sit on."

"Fine. Then we'd have to get me two seats to accommodate my big butt."

He just rolls his eyes at me. "Abby. It's not big. It's just … round. Like the rest of you. You're all round and curvy. I like it. I think I'm gonna have to get you pregnant more often. You're very cute all … pregnant."

"And very booby."

"Well … that too," he admits. 

"See? I knew it was the boobs all along," I say as I slip by him on my way out of the shower. Patting his very naked, very cute, but not-so-_round_ butt as I go. 

"It's not the boobs; it's the curves," he tells me as he takes over the spot I just relinquished under the shower spray. 

"Uh-huh," I mutter as I start to dry off. 

"Oh, jeez … Abby," Carter whines from inside the shower a few minutes later. I pull on my robe, tying it around that 'cute' belly of mine, and open the shower door, sticking my head in. 

"What?"

"He peed on me. I told you. He always pees on me." John looks petulant, holding a curled-up Robby tucked into the crook of his arm. How he can tell that the baby peed on him while they are both soaking wet in the shower is beyond me, but I really don't want to know so I won't ask for the details.

"Maybe that means he likes you. You know, like a puppy." 

"But he never pees on you."

"I guess he likes me more." 

"Then shouldn't he pee on you more?" 

"Would you get over it already? I mean, you're in the shower. If he has to pee on you somewhere, better that it's when you're in the shower. Just wash it off," I tell him reaching in for Robby. 

"Come here, baby. Mommy doesn't care if you pee on her," I tell him as I cuddle him against my shoulder. 

"Of course not. Because he never pees on you." On that note, I shut the shower door and take Robby out to the bedroom, wrapping him up in a big, fluffy towel as we go. I've gotten him all dried off and am at "This little piggy had none" by the time John appears in the room, in his robe, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. 

"And this little piggy cried, 'Wee wee wee,' all the way home," I say shaking the tiniest of Robby's tiny little toes. 

"Again, Mommy. Again," Carter says in his best baby voice. Since Robby does seem to love it, I go through the nursery rhyme on his other foot. Once I'm done, I look up at Daddy who is just standing by the bed, watching us.

"Toss me a diaper, would you?" I ask, gesturing to the small stack sitting on the dresser. There are diapers all over the house now. In the baby's room, in our room, in the bathroom, downstairs. Yesterday I opened a kitchen cabinet to get out one of Robby's bottles and found a whole bunch of them piled up in there. "Now that you're back in the room, I wouldn't want there to be an 'incident,'" I say to John.

"Shut up," he says with a laugh, chucking a diaper at my head. 

"Did you see that, Robby? Your father _threw_ a diaper at me." He just tries to roll away as I wrestle him into the diaper. Guess he's gonna pretend he didn't see anything. I turn him loose on the floor as he seems to be in a restless mood. He might as well move now before it's time for everyone to get here and start passing him around. A glance at the clock reminds me that our guests will start arriving soon. I flop back on the bed, throwing my arm over my eyes at the thought. 

"What's wrong?" 

"We're gonna have a house full of people soon. Very soon." 

"I thought you said you want to do this." 

"I do. I just realized …"

"What?" 

"Well, I don't throw a lot of parties. I don't think I know how to be a proper hostess." 

"Don't worry about it, Abby. All we have to do is keep the food coming." 

"And the drinks." He gives me a rueful look. Probably feeling bad about the whole debate. I said that you can't have a New Year's Eve party without champagne. And I pointed out that just because we don't drink doesn't mean that our guests can't. John wasn't in favor of the idea, but once I accused him of not trusting me to not drink, he backed down pretty quick. I think he knows perfectly well that he doesn't have to worry about it so if he trusts me then there should be no problem. The truth is, I'm not tempted anymore. But even if I was, I'm pregnant. The best reason ever not to drink. And I've got Robby, who needs me … and needs me to stay sober. So I've got two great reasons --both my babies-- not to drink. Not to mention a long list of other reasons why I should never drink again. And I won't. And John knows that. But that doesn't mean that the lingering worries don't get the best of him sometimes. All it took was a little reassurance from me for him to realize that he really doesn't have anything to worry about. I'm not gonna sneak off with a bottle of wine or anything. But some of our friends might want to. God knows we've got plenty of guest rooms for the tipsy to crash in. Since the various bars and liquor cabinets in the house have long since been emptied, we finally agreed to get some beer and wine for the party. And, of course, champagne for the New Year's toast, although some of us will have to be content with sparkling cider.

"If we keep the food trays full, and the drinks flowing … believe me, our friends will take care of the rest. It's not exactly a high pressure situation. They all know each other. They'll mingle amongst themselves. And we have provided the entertainment." 

"What entertainment? A few CDs in the stereo doesn't really count as entertainment." 

"No, but Robby does. He was the life of the party last time. I'm sure he'll keep everyone entertained this time, too."

"That's a lot of weight to put on his little shoulders," I say, looking over the edge of the bed. Robby's sitting on the floor, mouthing the sweatshirt he was wearing earlier. But when he catches my eye he lets it drop out of his hand and lifts his arms up in the air. Along with the little whimpering noises, it's his way of asking to be picked up. I lean down and get him, pulling him back on to the bed with me. 

"Plus, I don't know how good he's gonna be tonight. He's been awfully clingy lately." Which is something of an understatement. He's been teething the past couple of days. He's uncomfortable because of it. So he's looking for comfort. That means he's looking for me. Mostly he just wants his mommy, whenever I'm available. So these past few days when I wasn't at work, he's pretty much been my constant companion. Not that I'm complaining about it. But I'm not sure if he'll be the social butterfly he was at last week's Christmas party. He might be more like an accessory for me. 

"We'll give him something for his gums, and he'll be fine once everyone gets here."

"We'll see about that," I tell him.

"He'll be fine. You'll be fine. The party will be a great success. And if it isn't … well, at least everyone who will be here is too nice to tell us how much it sucked."

"Great, I feel so much better." 

"Just stop worrying about it and start getting ready." 

It's good advice so I get Robby settled on the floor with a teether and start getting myself dressed. 

"You're not really wearing that, are you?" John asks.

"What? Underwear? It seemed like a good idea. You know, since people are coming over and everything."

"Yeah, but do you have to wear those … those …"

"They're panties, John."

"Barely." 

I look down at the scrap of lacy, black material still in my hands. "Well, I didn't want any panty lines." 

"You're killing me. You know that?" 

"Then you better not look when I put on the matching bra," I tell him, slipping out of my robe, and squeezing my boobs into a bra that coordinates with the panties that John seems so intrigued by. Guess I'll have to break out thongs more often. 

"You're staring again," I say, catching him watching me.

"That's just cruel, Abby. Now all night, every time I look at you … knowing what you're wearing under your clothes … torture. It's gonna torture me." 

"I think you can stand it. Besides, the anticipation is half the fun."

"Anticipation? Does that mean you're promising …"

"Well, we want to start the new year off right, don't we?" I ask, pulling on the pants and shimmery shirt that I've picked out for this evening. 

"Definitely. They say whatever you start the new year doing, you'll do all year so … " 

He's fully dressed by now, not having to worry about make-up or lengthy hair-styling processes. But he seems content to just stand around drooling over me. I certainly wouldn't want him to get Robby dressed or go downstairs and work on getting the food ready or anything. After a minute, however, he does pick up Robby and start tossing him around. I can't watch. I know that Robby loves it, and I trust Carter not to drop him … but there's still something about watching my baby getting tossed up in the air that makes my stomach clench. 

"You wanna get him dressed?" I finally ask. 

"Sure," Carter says, grabbing the pile of little clothes and sitting down on the bed with the baby. He's great about taking care of Robby --as he should be since he's his father-- but, at least when I'm home, Daddy often needs to be prodded to do what needs to be done. He's happy to do it, but I usually have to ask him first. An anomaly I'm still trying to figure out since John spends so much time alone with Robby. I don't call him from work and remind him to dress the baby, so why can't he just do it on his own when I'm here? 

"You know, you don't have to wait around for my …" I almost say 'instructions,' but I'm afraid he might take offense to that so instead I say, "… permission to take of your own son."

"I know," he says, looking up from where he's pulling a little white turtle neck over the onesie he's already managed to get onto a squirmy baby. "But I know how you like to be … in charge of Robby when you're home so I don't mind … deferring to you." 

"Well, I wish you wouldn't. I mean, if you've been home with him all day while I've been at work … yeah, I appreciate you letting me take over when I get home because I want to be the one to take care of him after being away from him. But if we've both been here with him all day, like today, then you don't have let me to call the shots."

"Okay," he agrees, pulling on Robby's khaki-colored cords and finishing with a heavy sweater of stripes in black, gray, maroon, and beige. "Hey, this is a nice sweater. Is it new?" 

"One of his Christmas presents, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Maggie didn't make this, did she?"

"Nope, I actually bought that one. Or maybe the elves made it. I don't remember whether it was from us or Santa Claus."

"Poor kid," John says, lifting Robby up into his arms. "Already getting stuck with clothes for Christmas."

"I'm sure he doesn't mind. And it's not like he didn't get a mountain of toys, too." 

"That's right, you got so many toys that now we have to make you a playroom, don't we?" John's cooing at the baby and back to tossing him around again. I resolve not to look, and instead concentrate on my hair. 

"Up or down?" 

"What?" John asks, sounding confused and looking at the baby, maybe thinking I was referring to him … that the baby should be up or down. 

"My hair. Up or down?" 

"Up." No hesitation on that one. 

"Really?"

"Yeah. Up. Definitely up." 

"I didn't know you had such a preference." 

"Well, up is … alluring. It makes your hair kinda like that sexy underwear you've got on -- I can't see it, but I know it's there. Which actually makes the whole thing better. Later on, when it's just us, off come the clothes, down goes the hair …" 

"How very _Madame Bovary_ of you." 

"Well, you know, historically women always wore their hair up in public. They only ever put it down for their husbands."

"Historically, women could be stoned for showing their ankle in public."

"Yeah, those were the days," he says in a fake wistful voice. I just shoot him a look. "So … why don't I take Robby downstairs and get some dinner in him while you finish getting ready? There's still some of that sweet potato you mashed up for him yesterday, right?" 

"Yep. In the fridge. Just stick the container in the microwave for 30 seconds on --"

"50% power. I know."

"And don't forget --"

"A bib. I got it. I thought you were gonna let me handle him on my own more …even when you're around, right?" 

"Right. Okay. Go get him his dinner before the guests start arriving. And I'll be down in a few minutes." 

"Take your time. We'll be fine." I watch John and Robby depart and have to hold my tongue. There's about ten other things I want to tell him -- to mix up the baby food really well, to add some water if seems too thick, and not to forget to test the temperature. But I don't say anything and just keep reminding myself that Carter knows what he's doing. Of course, I get my hair up in record time and practically fly down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

"Hi," I say casually. "How's it going?" 

"Good," John says, turning away from Robby in his highchair to smile at me. "He plowed right through that sweet potato, and now he's having some blueberry dessert." 

"Oh, that's a new one. How does he like it?" 

"I can't spoon it up fast enough, so I guess he likes it."

I glance over at the highchair as I'm getting out baby bottles, powdered formula, and bottled water. Robby is sitting there with his mouth wide open like a baby bird, just waiting for the next bite. I think he has a bit of a sweet tooth. Usually any jar of baby food with the word "dessert" in the title is a hit with him. Just wait until he gets to taste chocolate. 

While I make up the bottles, John finishes up with Robby's dinner and gets him all cleaned up. Soon after starting the preparations for the food, I glance over at the baby.

"John." 

"What?"

"What does he have?"

"A carrot."

"I see that. But why did you give him a carrot?"

"It was in the fridge." He looks at me like that statement should make sense. 

"So anything in the fridge is now a good toy for our baby son?"

"Not a toy. A teether. He's always looking for something to chew on these days. And carrots are so hard, he's not gonna be able to bite off any pieces and choke. It's cold. I thought it would feel good on his gums."

"That's what these are for," I say, pulling a teething ring out the fridge. 

"Yeah, but that's plastic. No nutritional value." 

"And how's he gonna get any nutritional value out of a carrot that he's not eating?"

"Osmosis? I don't know, maybe from sucking on it. Anyway, he's happy. Let him be. We're right here if anything happens. But it won't. He's fine."

"You do stuff like this all the time when I'm at work, don't you?"

"Maybe." 

I give him a long look, but finally give in. The baby is happy to hang out in his highchair trying to choke himself with a carrot … at least until I make the mistake of getting too close. On one of my trips across the kitchen as I start to arrange the food, I stop and talk to Robby, brushing my hand over his head. Immediately, he drops the carrot on the tray, starts fussing, and waves his arms at me. He wants me to pick him up, and I can't resist him.

I spring him from his chair and tote him around on my hip as we finish up the food prep. When he begins to cry a bit, I retrieve one of those teething rings from the fridge. That keeps him happy for a few minutes, but then the fussiness returns full force. It's no surprise, really. He usually has a fussy period in the early evenings, just before or after dinner. Of course, this isn't exactly the best timing. It's hard enough rushing around trying to do all the last minute stuff -- the food, the drinks, picking up all the baby toys from the floor and off the furniture and tossing them into the playpen. And now I'm doing it all one-handed while trying to calm a cranky baby. 

"What's the matter, sweetie?" I ask him when the fussing turns into full-on crying. This is more than he usually cries, even during his grumpy hour. "Is it your gums?" I stick my finger in his mouth to see if I can feel anything, and immediately he clamps down, gnawing away on my finger. "I guess so, huh? Let's see what we can do about that." A dose of baby Tylenol and an application of teething gel later, he seems a little happier. At least until I open the refrigerator door and he spots his bottle. At first I don't even realize what's inspired this latest crying jag, but then it hits me. I don't really have the time to stop and feed him now, but I can't stand to deny him either. John's off giving the living room one last quick run through, putting away any stray toys and things, so I guess I'll be forced to sit down for a minute and give the baby his bottle. 

I'm just shaking the bottle up after it comes out of the microwave when the doorbell rings. I look at the clock. Early. Whoever it is, they're early. I call for John, but get no response. 

"Guess we better get the door," I tell Robby. He's quiet for the moment, having spotted my necklace and started playing with it, apparently having forgotten all about the bottle he was so desperate for moments ago. 

"We're coming!" I call as the doorbell rings again just as we get to the front hall. I pull open the door and am relieved to find Susan on the other side. "Thank God it's you." 

"Well, that's nice. I'm happy to see you, too." 

"If it had been anybody else, I would have screamed."

"Yeah, sorry we're early. My date was anxious to meet this little guy," Susan says, gesturing to Robby. 

"Oh, I'll bet," I say.

"No, she really was. Weren't you, Susie?" The little girl nods, looking up at her aunt. "You remember Abby, right?" She nods again, smiling at me. We met the last time she was here visiting Susan. 

"Hi, Susie. It's nice to see you again. Come on in, you guys," I say, showing them into the hallway. 

"Wow," Susie says, looking around, "Is this your house? Do you live in a castle?"

"Almost," I tell her.

"Susie," Susan says, "Don't forget your manners. Say hello to Abby."

"Hi," she says, looking a little embarrassed. "Thanks for inviting me to your party," she adds. 

"We're glad you could join us. This is Robby," I tell her, shifting the baby so that his back against my stomach, and he's facing Susan and Susie. 

"He's the one you've heard so much about," Susan says. 

"Hi, Robby," Susie says, smiling at the baby, taking one of his little hands. I look down and see that he's kicking his feet and smiling at her. There, that's better than the Mr. Crabby Pants he was being a little while ago. 

"Hey, big guy. Look at you. All dressed up for the party," Susan says, reaching out to take his other hand. "Gosh, he looks so grown up dressed in real clothes. I love his little sweater. It makes him look like a little Carter."

"He is a little Carter," I point out. 

"You know what I mean," She tells me. And then, looking at the baby, "Are you planning to feed him that bottle or just torture him with it?" 

"Huh?" I ask, but then I look down and see what she means. Robby is doing his baby bird impression again with his mouth wide open. Only this time he's desperately trying to get his mouth around the nipple of the bottle that I hold in the hand that is wrapped around him. The bottle is dangling there just in front of him, but he can't quite get to it. And even if he could, it wouldn't work in this position anyway. But he doesn't know that. "Sorry, buddy," I tell him, cradling him in the crook of my arm and finally offering him the bottle he's been waiting for. As soon as he sees it coming, he grabs it with both hands and pulls it to his mouth, sucking on it furiously. Guess he was thirsty. "Drink fast, okay, peanut?" I coo at him. "Mommy's still got lots to do before everyone gets here." 

"You want me to feed him?" Susan offers.

"Oh! Can I do it?" Susie asks. I look over her head at Susan who kind of shrugs.

"Um … sure," I finally say. 

"You have to be really careful, though," Susan tells her niece. 

"I feed the babies at my sitter's house all the time. I know what to do," Susie informs us. And really, at this point, Robby basically feeds himself. He just needs a little help keeping his head and the bottle at the right angle. I could probably prop it up for him, but I hate to do that. I'd rather someone holds him. But since he could do it on his own, he should be fine with Susie. We get her settled on the couch in the living room with a pillow under her arm, and I put Robby in her lap. He doesn't protest at all, and in fact, he doesn't even miss a beat in drinking his formula.

"Okay, just hold up his head. He'll hold his own bottle, but he might need help holding it high enough when it gets to the bottom. But he might not want it all because he just ate a bunch of solid food. So if he pulls it out of his mouth, he might be done. Sometimes he's just taking a break, though. So just kinda … follow his lead."

"Okay," Susie says, seeming very comfortable as she smiles down at Robby. It does seem like she's done this before. 

"Call us if you need anything … we'll be right down the hall in the … kitchen?" Susan consults me on our whereabouts. 

"Yep. And John's around here somewhere, too. Robby should be fine … but if he cries or anything, just call, and I'll be here right away."

"She really means that," Susan say. "You should see her fly when Robby cries. It's almost like she has super powers." I shoot Susan a look. 

"If you need anything at all …" I say to Susie. 

"We're cool," Susie says. 

And they do seem to be … cool. "Well, in that case, I guess we'll just go work on the appetizers." Susan and I walk down the hall to the kitchen. I'm a little reluctant to leave, but I won't be far away. And I really do need to get some work done. It might not be a bad idea to let Susie do a little 'baby-sitting.' And I'm gonna put her aunt to work, too.

Susan and I have most of the food ready to go when Carter pops into the kitchen. "Hey, there's some little girl in the living room feeding the baby." 

"That's not some little girl."

"It's a little boy with pigtails?"

"No, it's a little girl. But just not _some_ little girl. It's Susie."

"Susie?"

"Susan's Susie?" I point across the room to Susan who is hidden behind the open pantry door.

"Hey, Carter," she says. 

"Oh, hi. I didn't know anybody was here yet. Are people getting here already?" 

"Just us. We're early," Susan says. 

"And it's a good thing you were early … so I could put you to work. We're almost done here," I say to Carter. "How's the rest of the house?"

"Good." I give him a look because I've seen his definition of 'good' before. 

"Good enough for _other_ people to see?" 

"It's perfect."

"Uh-huh," I say, still somewhat skeptical. But just then I hear the doorbell ringing so there's no time left to debate it.

"Showtime," John says, as he heads toward the front hall to answer the door. I retrieve Robby from Susie, and we join John in the hallway welcoming our guests, taking their coats, showing everyone into the living room. 

Soon the party is well underway. There's music playing and people chatting. The food seems to be going over well, and I'm busy scurrying back and forth between the party in the living room and platters of hors d'oeuvres in the kitchen. Soon after the first group of people arrived, John took the baby from me, ostensibly to help me out, but I think that really he just wanted a chance to show him off. 

I take a break from my hostess duties, and spend a few minutes just watching my guys enjoy the party. At this point, Robby is making the rounds, being passed from one set of eager arms to another. I just wish that I could arrange it so that he'd get this kind of reception everywhere he goes for the rest of his life. That probably won't happen since obnoxious school kids and awkward teenagers generally aren't as appealing as cuddly, smiling babies. Then again, as I watch his father working the room, happily mingling, I think that maybe Robby will grow up to be just like him and somehow have a way about him that makes people warm up to him right away. With the way Robby seems to be enjoying being passed around, there seems to be a good chance that he might become a people person, too.

I'm relieved to see that it's not just John and Robby who seem to be having a good time. People are milling around, laughing, smiling, and eating. If that isn't the sign of a good party, I don't know what is.

"Great party, Abby," Sam says, as if she was reading my mind. 

"Um … thanks," I reply. 

"You really need to do this more often, girl," Chuny says. 

"Mm-hmm," Haleh agrees. 

"If I lived in this kind of swanky place I'd sure share the wealth," Yosh adds. 

Swanky? "Uh … well …" I'm not quite sure what to say. "We'd have more parties, but I'm not much of an entertainer. And between work and the baby …" 

"Oh, now, that's not what we meant," Haleh assures me. 

"We're just glad to finally get a look at the place," Yosh says.

"You know it. For years I've been dying to know what the Carter mansion looks like," Chuny confides. 

I guess I never really thought about it that way. But most of our colleagues haven't been here before. It would only be natural that they would be curious about it. 

"Well, we give nickel tours on the half hour," I say. 

"Carter's been promising to show us around since we got here," Sam says. But we all look over at where he's engaged in an animated conversation with Luka and Gallant. 

"Well, I'd be glad to show you around. At least, I'll show you the six rooms that I actually use. We can guess what the others are for." 

"All these rooms, and you only use six of them?" Sam asks, sounding skeptical. 

"Up until the holidays, we never even used this … living room, as I like to call it, much. But then we put the tree up in here and started hanging out in here more. But just give me a minute, and then I'll do my best to play tour guide." I can hear a fussy Robby starting to cry across the room, and figure I should go rescue Lydia who's stuck with the suddenly unhappy baby. 

"Here, let me take him," I say, reaching out for the baby. 

"He has the hiccups," Lydia tells me, just as Robby demonstrates that fact for me. 

"He gets them a lot." 

"He doesn't seem to be very happy about it."

"Yeah. Plus, he's teething. So I figured his good mood wouldn't last all night. I'll just take him with me on the tour."

"There's a tour?" 

"Looks that way."

Before I know it, I'm carrying the baby in my arms while he sucks on what's left of his bottle, leading the way through the house. 

"Well you've seen this room. I like to think of it as the living room. Although I suppose that at one time it would have been called the parlor … or something like that," I start as I lead them out of the room that is the center of the party and on to the next room in the house. Throwing open the doors and flipping on the lights I say, "We call this the library. Because … um … it's full of books."

"Wow," Sam says, "I don't think I've read this many books in my life." 

"I don't think my school has this many books," Susie says. 

"You could read for days," Yosh remarks.

"Who would want to?" Alex asks. 

After a bit more ewwing and ahhing, I lead them on, skipping over some of the more boring rooms … and the ones that I have yet to identify by name. I show them the into the dining room with its immense table.

"Wow, this table must be big enough for twenty people," Susie says. 

"At least," I say.

"Eat in here much?" Chuny asks. 

"Never. Well, we did at Christmas when the grandparents were here. I put all the food at one end and made them serve themselves buffet style. We all sat at the other end with Robby presiding over us from his infant seat -- sitting on top of this grand, antique table. I don't think John's mom was pleased, but she doesn't live here." 

In fact, I doubt John's parents were happy with anything that we've done with the place. And by 'done with the place' I mean let Robby's stuff take over every room that we use. In every room that I'll be showing off on the tour, you can't miss the fact that a baby lives here. Toys, furniture, playpens everywhere you look. And while I think Eleanor thought it should all be hidden away so as to not tarnish the opulence of the house, I don't mind it in the least. Actually, I kind of like it. I like walking into a room and seeing his things and being reminded that I live in a house with a baby. Because I'm a mommy now. Besides, it's his house, too. I'm not about to ostracize him and all his things to the nursery just because it makes things look nicer. It's hard enough living in this palace, I don't want it to feel like a museum. I want it to feel as homey as possible. Which is why I've done what I can to make the kitchen, the next room on the tour, feel homey and comfortable … the way every kitchen should. It is where we spend a lot of our time and where we eat out meals. Even with the somewhat industrial and cold state-of-the-art appliances in a big gourmet kitchen, we've managed to warm it up and make it feel cozy and comfortable. Like home. Our home. And it's finally beginning to feel like home to me. More or less. 

We go through the kitchen and then head into the room that in a house like this would probably be called a study. Or maybe a drawing room. Whatever its proper name, we've turned it into a family room of sorts with a comfortable couch, the big T.V., Robby's baby swing and exercise saucer, along with a bookcase full of his current favorite toys and books. For all it's grandness, it's pretty much your average den … just a little bigger and fancier than most. From the family room we move into the big room next to it. The room that's in the process of becoming our playroom. Of course, so far all we've done is dump most of Robby's Christmas toys in here.

"Are you starting a day care or something?" Alex asks.

I laugh a little at that. "No. Not exactly. These are just Robby's Christmas toys. "

"All this stuff is for one kid?" Alex asks. "And he's too little to play with most of it. What's a baby need all this stuff for?" 

"Alex," Sam says with a warning tone. 

"My mom said you were rich, but until we got to your house I didn't know you were _that_ rich. But if you can have all these toys for one baby, you must have more money than you know what to do with." 

"_Alex_." 

Is there really that much stuff? Okay, I knew the little ride-in Jeep that Carter insisted on buying was a bit over the top considering Robby won't be ready to drive it for two more years. But the little toddler 'swing set' with it's short slide and little swing seemed just right for him. How was I to know that the grandparents would show up with a puppet show, a playhouse, and a mini-trampoline? And let's not forget the "really cool" ball pit from Uncle Eric. Along with all the other toys in here, it does kinda look a preschool classroom. Oh God, are we spoiling him already? I look down at the baby in my arms, now happily sucking on his pacifier. You're not spoiled, are you, sweetheart? No, of course not. Not my sweet little Robby. I kiss the top of his little head and then say to him, "What do you say, Robby? Wanna go show everybody your room?" 

So soon we're upstairs, and once again Robby and I are leading the procession. This time past several closed doors. "Guest rooms," I say without bothering to elaborate. 

"Geez, how many guests do you plan to have?" Lydia asks. 

"None," I say. "This was all here before me, remember? I just live here."

"You could open up a bed and breakfast," Yosh says.

"Or a boarding school," Sam says. I catch the look she gives to Alex who is apparently pestering Susie. 

"Or an orphanage," Alex suggests. 

I can't help but smile a little at that one. 

"What's that look for?" Susan asks me. She's had this tour before, but decided to join in anyway. 

"Nothing."

"Abby."

"Just … thinking about filling up the house with kids." 

"Aren't you already working on that?" She asks, patting, first my belly, and then Robby who suddenly decides he wants to go see Aunt Susan. Okay by me, he's getting to be a heavy little thing. 

"That's not exactly what I meant," I tell her, passing over the baby. She gives me an inquisitive look. "I'll tell you about it later." Then it's my turn to give her a questioning look when I notice how she's rubbing at Robby's cheek. "Something wrong?" I ask, peering at the baby. 

"No. He just had something orange on his cheek." 

"Oh. Maybe the carrot his father was letting him gnaw on earlier," I say in a slightly perturbed tone of voice. "Or maybe the sweet potato he had for dinner."

"He likes sweet potato? That was one of Susie's favorites, too." 

"Yeah, we found out by accident at Thanksgiving. He loves it so much that I try to make some for him every few days." 

"Make it? They sell it in jars, you know. It's this wonderful invention … pre-made baby food. I think I may have seen you buy some once."

"Funny. Yeah, we do jars mostly. But sweet potatoes are so easy to make. And there's something kinda cool about making homemade baby food."

"How very Martha Stewart of you," Susan says, sounding almost worried.

"Well, I like making his food sometimes. That way I can tell myself I'm still a good mom even if I've been away from him half his life."

"Abby, you're a good mom no matter what. And you're _not_ away from him half of the time." 

"Yeah, but that's how it feels sometimes. Most of the time."

"Look, Abby …" 

"We're here," I say, interrupting her and changing the subject. "This is Robby's room. In case the crib and the blue walls didn't make that obvious." 

I thought the exclamations over the library were something, but that was nothing compared to a bunch of women (and Yosh) in a baby's room. They love everything from the moon and stars bedding to the vibrant blueberry-colored walls. Not wanting a pastel baby blue or a dark primary blue, I fell in love with this French blue color. When we finally found bedding with the right colors that wasn't a sports or transportation theme, we were set. The addition of the baby furniture in a nice, warm honey color was the just what we needed to end up with a cute baby boy's room … if I do say so myself. And judging from their reactions, they all seem to agree.

The only way that I can get them out of the baby's room is to take them next door … to the other baby's room. "This is … the nursery." 

"Oh my God," Susan says, "I can't believe you've got the baby's room done already. How … industrious of you." 

"Not really. You should have seen this room a week ago. It was empty except for Robby's outgrown bassinet sitting in the middle of the room. And as far as I was concerned, it was going to stay that way for another three or four months."

"So how come the room is all done?" Lydia asks. 

"It was an accident."

"How do you accidentally decorate a room?" Chuny wants to know. 

"Well … see, when we bought the furniture for Robby's room, we saw this stuff and fell in love with it. But look at it -- it's white with flowers embossed on it. Not exactly appropriate for Robby. But we said then, 'when we have a little girl …' so when we found out we're having a little girl, we ordered the furniture. While we were there we picked up the comforter and all the other stuff for her room just so we'd be ready. But we thought it would take a few weeks, at least, to get the furniture. Instead, they delivered it two days after Christmas. I still had a house full of relatives, not to mention a cranky baby, and a cook threatening to quit when they showed up to deliver baby furniture that I won't need for months. And then as soon as our families left, John decided that since we had some time now, we might as well just paint the baby's room. Which is how I ended up spending my day off covered in pink paint. Thanks to Robby. I swear I just put him down for ten seconds … the next thing I know he was rolling through the paint. My son was faintly pink for a day and half. But on the upside, he managed to dye his white sleeper a nice shade of pink, so now we'll have something for his sister to wear." 

"Yeah, I'm sure that buying some girl clothes is gonna be a real hardship," Lydia says. 

"This room is very … pink," Sam observes. 

"What's wrong with pink?" I ask, somewhat defensively.

"Nothing. It's just kinda … girly."

"Well, she's a girl," I say, rubbing my belly. 

"Yeah, but I didn't think you were much of a girly-girl … or the kind who would want everything to be … _pink_." She keeps saying that like it's a dirty word. 

"Well, I'm not. But Carter is." This gets a round of laughter. "I mean, he wants his little girl to be his little princess. I just didn't want pastel pink. That's how we ended up with this color."

"What do you call this color?" Susan asks. "Bubblegum? Pepto?"

"Ha ha. Strawberry pink, I think they called it. Which is good since Robby's room is something-something blueberry blue."

"So what's next?" Haleh asks. "Lemon meringue?" 

"This conversation is making me hungry. C'mon," I say to everybody, "let's hit the last stop on this tour so we can get back to the food. I mean, the party." 

I take them across the hall to the bedroom that John and I (and usually Robby) share. 

"Whoa, our whole apartment could fit in here," Alex says. 

"I know what you mean," I tell him. "My old apartment could fit in the baby's room." 

"Which one?" Susan asks.

"Which apartment? Any of them. All of them." 

"I meant which baby's room?"

"Oh, either one," I say. 

"I can't believe there's a couch in your bedroom," Chuny says. 

"Actually, it's a loveseat. And it's a great place to sit and read to Robby." 

"Couch, loveseat … who cares? I can barely fit the bed in my bedroom," Sam says. 

"This place is amazing," Haleh says.

"Is it weird living in a castle?" Susie asks me.

"Well, it's not really a castle. Although sometimes it feels like it is. It's just a really big house. But yeah, sometimes it's weird. I guess I'm getting used to it, though." 

"He's gonna have fun growing up here," Alex says, gesturing to Robby.

"You think? I hope so," I respond as we head back downstairs to rejoin the party. I'm carrying Robby who is grumpy again. I consider trying to get him to bed, but a glance at my watch tells me that's it still early. So he's probably not so much tired as he is out of sorts. Or maybe his gums are bothering him since he seems more interested in chewing on his pacifier than sucking on it. I take a quick detour to the kitchen to get Robby some more teething gel and myself a handful of whatever food is close by, and then with the baby on my hip and a tray of food in the other hand, I venture back into the party. 

"Hey," John says, coming over to me and taking first the tray and then the baby from me, "where did you guys disappear to?" 

"Entertaining our guests. I got to play tour guide. Everyone is very impressed with the house. And I'm incredibly embarrassed." 

"Why? Did you trip and fall over? You didn't hurt yourself did you?" 

"No, no. Nothing like that. I just mean … by this … embarrassment of riches." 

"Aha! See? It's not always so easy, is it?" 

"No, I guess not. But there's not much we can do about it."

"Sure there is. We can give it all away and live in a tent," Carter suggests. Somehow I don't think he means that. 

"That might be a bit extreme, but there's got to be ways that we can … 'share the wealth' as Yosh said." 

"What?" 

"Never mind," I tell him with a chuckle.

"Well, we've already thought of some ways to do just that, haven't we?" 

"Yeah, I guess so. Unless you changed your mind."

"Nope," he assures me. "Have you?"

"No." 

"Well … then …" he smiles at me. I smile back. 

"Uh-oh, you two look like you're up to something," Susan says. "Did you spike the punch?"

"There is no punch," I reminder her. 

"Itching powder in my sleeping bag?" 

"As much as I love to live out episodes of _The Brady Bunch _on a regular basis, no." 

"You didn't put something in the food, did you?"

"Yes. Now you've guessed it, Sus … we've invited you all here to poison you. Damn, foiled again." 

"There's definitely something not right about the two of you," John says to us. 

"There's something not right about you the two of you, either … so come on, what gives?" 

"Later," I tell her.

"Promise?" 

"Absolutely."

"Okay." With that she walks off, joining in on what I'm guessing is a big gossip fest in a nearby circle of people. 

"I thought we weren't talking about it yet," Carter says.

"Well, Susan doesn't count. You know she'd drag it out of me sooner or later, anyway. Besides, maybe we need a second opinion."

"Someone to tell us exactly how crazy we are?" 

"Yeah, pretty much."

"I guess we should stop standing here talking to each other and get back to the party, huh?" 

"Time to mingle?"

"Yeah."

So we go our separate ways, making our rounds and being proper hosts. The party is really in full swing, with several people dancing now. We're gonna blame that all on Malik who started it by insisting that he really could break dance … some holdover from a misspent youth, apparently. Since several of the guys had to go to all the trouble of shoving the couch out of the way to clear a space, it seemed silly to not take advantage of the makeshift dance floor. Of course, I don't get to spend too much time dancing. The only problem with this whole entertaining thing is that being the hostess really kind of sucks. You spend all your time making sure people have enough to eat and drink and can find the bathroom. And I've had to tend to an increasingly cranky Robby on top of it. When he's crying I feel compelled to take him, partly because I don't want anyone else to have to deal with my crying baby, and partly because I like to think that I'm a comfort to him. Plus, if I'm totally honest, dealing with Robby gives me an excuse to escape for a few minutes when the pounding music and raucous laughter get to be too much. It's in one such instance that I decide it's time to get him ready for bed so I run off to the nursery for a little while.

"Hey," Susan says, appearing in Robby's room where I'm just zipping up his blue sleeper. "I saw you escaping. From your own party," Susan says in mock disapproval, shaking her head. 

"I don't think they'll miss me too much. Besides I figured if the loud music was getting to be too much for me then Robby would definitely need a break." In fact, Robby doesn't seem the least bit upset by all the commotion. In fact, he was dozing off on my shoulder before I brought him up here. But clearly it's time for him to go to bed. And since Mommy needed a break, it all worked out for the best. 

"It is a little loud, isn't it?"

"The baby is starting to kick in time to the beat," I tell her, patting my belly to denote which baby I mean. 

"We're getting old," Susan says. Then looking at Robby, "Is he going to bed?" 

"Yeah, I'm gonna try. It's pretty quiet up here, so hopefully after he has his bottle, he'll go down okay. He was almost asleep downstairs, but now he seems to have second wind. Don't you?" I coo at him, running my hand lightly over his chest and down to his belly. He gives me a big happy smile. But then he raises his hands up to his face and rubs his eyes. Sleepy eyes. 

"Yeah, Susie's asleep on the couch in your den. But she wants me to wake her up before midnight. Hey, can I feed him?" She asks, seeing me head for the rocking chair with the baby and his bottle. 

"Sure." I wait for her to get settled and then turn the baby over to her. 

"Oh, he's so sweet," she says, taking hold of one of his little hands. He looks up at her intently while enjoying his bedtime snack. "So," she starts, her tone changing to a more demanding one, "are you gonna tell me what this big secret is?"

"It's not a secret. It's just something we're not really telling people about yet," I say, taking a seat in the other chair. 

"Isn't that the definition of a secret?"

"Well, it's just that it's all still … tentative."

"What?" 

"Well, John and I … we've been thinking about … expanding our family."

"Uh, Ab … you've done more than just _think_ about it," she says, looking pointedly at my belly. "If you're trying to tell me you're pregnant … um, I already knew that. Everyone already knows that." 

"No, I'm not talking about her. Well, not _just_ about her anyway."

"Well, now I'm confused. Unless you've got more than one in there."

"No. Uh … last week … on Christmas Eve. Well, we took Robby to see Santa and the big tree … and then we went to a group home … you know, for kids. Took some toys and stuff."

"Oh, that was a nice thing to do. You must have made a lot of kids happy."

"Yeah. It made us happy, too. Maybe happier than the kids even. But it was sad, too. You know …these kids without homes … families. I mean, some of them were just there temporarily. Until a family member could come for them or until they went to a new foster home. But some of them spend weeks or months there. Or keep having to go back. But they are so sweet. And so beautiful. They've got nothing. And we've got so much," I say gesturing around the room. "And we're so lucky." I rub my belly and look fondly at Robby. "And we … want to share our good fortune." 

"So … you're thinking about adopting some needy children?" 

"Yeah. I mean, that's where we want to get to eventually. Adopting is not always that easy. The approval process can take a while. And a lot of the kids who need homes the most aren't available to be adopted. So we've talked about becoming foster parents. Actually, I've been thinking about it for a while. I guess he has, too. And we talked about doing it _someday_. You know … when the babies were older. But now we're thinking that we don't want to wait. That maybe we want to get things rolling right away. Crazy idea, huh?"

"No. Not at all. It's … wonderful." 

"But?"

"Well … don't you worry about getting attached to the kids? And then having to say good-bye?" 

"Actually, yeah. But we've been doing some research. We found out there's a program for long-term foster parents looking to adopting their foster kids. They try to hook you up with kids that aren't able to be adopted yet, but that they think will be available soon. Then while they are clearing the kids for adoption, the foster parents are getting approved to adopt. Meanwhile you get to have the kids that are gonna become yours with you." 

"That sounds like a pretty good deal."

"Yeah. It doesn't always work out. And that would be hard. But at least we would have brightened up some kids' lives for a while. Hopefully brightened up their lives. And it's not like we'd be left alone. And we'd just try again with other kids who need us."

"That's great, Abby. I mean, it's really great. It'll be tough, though. With two little babies and work … plus foster kids. And the older they are, the harder it can be for them to adjust." 

"I know it won't always be easy. But I think it'll be worth it."

"If anyone can do it, it's you and Carter." 

"Thanks. I hope so."

"I know so. You guys have gotten through so much to get to this point, I don't think a few kids could dish out anything that you two can't handle. But you'll have a lot on your plate."

"Yeah, but … I won't have work to worry about, anymore," I confess.

"Oh my God! You're quitting?" She sounds stunned. But she denotes her shock in a whisper because of the sleepy baby in her arms.

"Yeah."

"When the baby's born?"

"No," I say with a little smile, shaking my head.

"When?"

"Now. Actually, yesterday was my last shift."

"You're kidding!" 

"Nope. It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I mean, I decided I wanted to stay home, but I was planning to work until the end of the month. January, that is. But I guess they have someone who wants to transfer in and take my place. So …"

"So that's it? You're giving up your residency?"

"For now. But I like to think of it as taking a leave. I plan to go back … someday." 

"You're sure this is what you want?"

"Yeah. I'm sure. Every day it's such a struggle to get out the door. I hate leaving him. And I count the minutes until I can get home. And then … then it's just hanging over my head that I have to get back to work in just a few hours. It's just too hard. And I don't want to do it anymore. And I'm tired of missing things with him. So yeah, I'm sure. And the hospital's not gonna fall down if I'm not there. But my family … they need me more. And I'll be the one to suffer if I don't do this." 

"Well if you're ready to give up your career …"

"I'm not giving up my career. I'm just putting the residency on hold. It's just … all those hours … and it's so draining and demanding. I just can't do it anymore. But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to work at all, ever. In fact, I could still take the occasional nursing shift when Carter's off … keep my skills up. And I'm still a doctor, with or without the residency. Maybe I'll just end up using it in some other way."

"Maybe it'll open up the door to some new opportunities that you can't even imagine yet." 

"I just want the opportunity to spend more time with my baby. This is where I belong right now," I say, getting up and going over to where Susan is rocking Robby. His bottle is just about gone, and he's just about asleep. "C'mere, little guy," I say in a whisper, carefully lifting him from Susan's arms and exchanging his bottle for his pacifier. "Let's get you to bed." I walk him over to his crib and give him a big kiss before laying him down and tucking him in under his blanket. I turn on his musical night light, but linger by his bed, letting my hand rest on his small stomach. "I love you, Robby. Goodnight, angel," I say, stroking his cheek as I smile down at him for a long moment before I turn to go. We turn out the lights and close the door. He doesn't cry … not even a little bit just for show, so he must be tired. 

"You're right, you know," Susan says as we are on our way back downstairs.

"About what?"

"This is where you belong." 

"At least for now." 

"Well, work will always be there … but they don't stay babies very long." 

"I know," I tell her. "Believe me, I know." 

By the time we've reached party central, I feel sufficiently rejuvenated and ready to rejoin the mix. Soon I'm getting a chance to really enjoy the party. The food is mostly gone. We're down to bowls of pretzels and potato chips, but no one seems to mind. John and I get a chance to take a few spins on our improvised dance floor. I also managed to dance with Gallant, Luka, Yosh, and Alex, who spent the entire dance trying to look down my shirt. Boys. Still, I enjoy the dancing. But it occurs to me that if we'd known there was gonna be this much dancing, we could have figured out which of these rooms was the ballroom and held this party in there. But then we would have had to do up another room with cheerful holiday decorations. Just as well we stuck with the living room. I'm laughing at some inappropriate joke that Malik is telling when I glance at the doorway and see Sam standing there with Robby in her arms. 

"I was in the bathroom upstairs when I heard him crying," she says as I approach them. "I didn't know if I should leave him and come and get you or get him myself … but I couldn't stand to walk away from a crying baby. I never could let Alex cry. Sorry if you would have rather I didn't get him up." 

"No, that's okay. I don't like to let him cry too much. And he looks like he's been at it for a while. Sorry, baby," I say, taking him into my arms. "Mommy should have come upstairs and checked on you more often. This stupid thing is supposed to vibrate like a pager," I tell Sam, showing her the receiver for our fancy baby monitor. You can clip it to your belt and supposedly hear or feel when the baby is crying. So much for that. 

"Well, you should probably turn it on," she says, reaching over and flipping a switch. 

"Oh. Oops. Oh, Mommy's so sorry, sweetie," I say to Robby. "But I don't know why you're up, you should be sleeping. Oh well. And now you _are _just in time to be our very own Baby New Year. Yeah, you wanna be Baby New Year?" I ask him in a whisper. He loves it when we whisper to him, almost always breaking into an instant smile just like the one he's giving me now. 

"Hey, buddy," John says, coming over to join us. "Are you back up? Just in time for the countdown." 

"Countdown? Already?" 

"One minute to go," he says. Apparently, Carter's already circled the room, handing out champagne or sparkling cider. He's brought glasses over for us and hands me one before moving over to the stereo and flipping off the music. Instantly he has everyone's attention to announce that we'll be starting our own countdown in a matter of seconds. It sends everyone scrambling around to find noise makers and confetti bombs before finding a good place to stand and stare at the clock. John starts the countdown with 30 seconds left to go. "30 … 29 … 28 …" Everyone else has joined in and there's quite a din coming from the room. 

"I'm really glad we had this party," I tell John over the roar of the crowd. 

"Me too. It was a lot of fun." 

"18 … 17 … 16 …"

"It's great having all our friends here," I say.

"We're starting off the new year with everyone that's most important to us. And with the people we love the most," he says, wrapping his arm around me. 

"10 … 9 … 8 …"

"I love you," I tell him. 

"I love you, too," he says. 

"5 … 4 … 3 … 2 …1 … _Happy New Year!_"

There's a cacophony of cheers and whistles and blasts from the horns and noise makers, not to mention the cracks of the poppers that spew out confetti all over us. John leans in and gives me a sweet, but passionate kiss to start the new year off right. Then we both turn to a sleepy Robby and plant kisses all over his little face. Now this is what a New Year's celebration should be. 

"To a happy, healthy new year," John says when the noise dies down a bit, raising his glass in the air. 

"To another year as wonderful as the last," I add, thinking about all the blessings of the past year and hoping that this new year will be just as incredible. 

"To good times with good friends," Susan says. 

And with that, there is much clinking of glasses and much well-wishing among all of us. And then someone starts singing. "Should old acquaintance be forgot …" Half of us don't know the words, the other half can't carry a tune. But the good news is that most of us are too drunk to care. As for John and I, we're just glad to be ringing in the new year together, as a family, with Robby in our arms. 

"Happy New Year, baby," John says, leaning down to whisper in my ear.

With one arm wrapped around my baby resting on the bump that is my new baby, and my other hand wrapped around the man that I love, there's only one response that I can think of. 

"Yeah, it's gonna be a very happy new year." 


End file.
